


Blue and Gold

by Igot2peedou



Category: Riverdale - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, Love, Riverdale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 23:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10347510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Igot2peedou/pseuds/Igot2peedou





	

 

Pink and red don't go together. In the back of her mind, Betty acknowledges this. Her journal looks ugly for it- less... her. Except. Red is Polly's favorite color. When Betty is at the edge of exhaustion, as she flips through her diary, for the briefest moment she is seeing Polly's scarlet chicken scratch. (She was always the reliable one, the neat methodical one.) Her flighty older sister, who helped her wrestle her niche to the floor and choke hold it into submission. Polly had been the one who got her into writing, that it was a way to (to be okay.) 

Her writing, from the baby blue to the deep red Polly often sported. Her big sister. Put away. A summer breeze, gathering strength to tear her roots from the seams, locked up. 

It's not fair. 

At some point she has to stop flipping pages. The words settle onto the page, the blip in time evaporates. This is her curvy slop, her hand feigning her sister's particular John Hancock. Hurts. Slippery cord of absence wraps around her like a noose for the soul. They had never been separated for so long before. Never. Polly and Betty- sisters, two souls tangled into one. It's not fair.

(Soulmate.) 

Cheryl calls Jason that. It's kind of creepy and maybe close to overstepping societal boundaries, but Betty, gets it. Blood of blood. The Blossom twins shared  a literal womb, made from the same flesh. Incomplete. Because there is the difference. There is something dangerous about that. They function as one. Whilst Polly and Betty are separate. Opposites. Complimentary. When Jason dies in a tragic accident- she does feel for Cheryl, because they are both without the better part of themselves, really. But she hates Jason- for so many reasons, but mostly for whisking Polly up and away, turning Betty's sanguine sunset into a series of aggressive unsatisfied crimson moons. She's hurt. Polly's gone. Jason drowned (and however much she hates him, no one deserves to die like that-) and the Blossoms. Cheryl should understand, they are so similar- but all she and her family has to offer is blame.  

Pointing fingers as if Jason hadn't been the monster under Polly's bed. (But don't ever mention how Polly was his, don't think about how the bed she laid was the bed she chose to lie.) 

And what is she suppose to write?

The truth. But if she has to wake up to the truth, does she have to paint her reality in every page? Does she deserve the reminder? Her mother says the Blossom boy ruined her daughter. Then she looks at Betty, eyes beady and so similar to her own, she can't help but see herself in them. The small speck of her mothers eye. And is this what Polly saw? Is this what drove her into the arms of her lover? To drugs?

More importantly, why didn't Polly stay?

Why did they make her leave. 

She has her suspicions, pinched below her brow and above her ponytail. Polly, even in her darkest hour came to her. Not mom or dad. Her. 

Polly crying. Wailing. Too happy eyes, giddy and glazed. Different shades of pulling away, going. Towards the end, swollen eyes and cheeks. A gift from Eros or maybe, how blind she was, drugs. Maybe she had missed that cry for help- she never believed in Jason Blossom, not for Polly, but he had made her happy. That was enough (but it never adds up does it?) because it didn't last long. Betty wouldn't know though. Yes, there was late nights in her bed, curled up together like old times-

if not the specifics the sentiment of Polly's new life spilled, charcoal dark smudged against the ruby red lipstick smeared against Polly's mouth. Truth hurts (you should have asked for more.) (should have demanded.) 

And then Polly was placed in a home. No goodbye. Her parents won't let her visit, nothing.

 

 

 

So she fills her diary with hearts and love letters to a boy who will never appreciate them. Archie. 

 _Genuine infatuation_ is what she writes. He's her bestfriend. He's a safety net she can't help but fall in, despite being strung along concrete. The more she nourishes this lesser hurt the easier it is to ignore the looming unease. Archie. Archie, Archie, Archie. 

There had always been this glowing fondness for him, their friendship. But. With Polly gone- he's the only normal person in her life. The only constant. Coaxing this soft feeling into something more doesn't take much effort. Maybe she shouldn't have. Because yes. It's natural and everyone, including them knew, somewhere sometime, the process of love would occur. An expected pleasantry.

But the timing is off. This is suppose to happen later. 

She wants it now, quite possibly needs it now. 

~~_why doesn't Archie_ ~~

It's fine. Archie's oblivious. But Arch has always been that way- she had found his painful confusion endearing, so she had nothing to complain about. It's like asking for Wasabi and crying when it burns your tongue. You know it's going to happen but you do it anyway. And? And besides, boys don't notice these things anyway. Betty really shouldn't mind. (Except Kevin notices. He notices the doe eyed gaze reserved solely for Archie. He notices-) 

She loves his ginger hair, their history. It's enough to warm the palms of her hands and the tips of her toes. He makes her happy.  

 

 

 

He doesn't feel the same.

He tells her this and tells her this. It feels like a dagger to the heart, a betrayal digging deep into her. The next day she can hardly look at him really.

 

 

Veronica reminds her of her sister, almost. Except Vee is different and new and... Sassy, running hot and cold. She latches onto Betty chooses her. It's hard not to look for an ulterior motive, the always is in Riverdale, but Veronica swears there isn't one. Betty believes her. There is something so pure about their friendship. They click.

Veronica is some sort of catalyst. The gatekeeper to the happenings. It's hard to think what life would have been like if Betty never met her. 

 

 

Her writing has always come from an emotional place, with metaphors and rapid flow of her insides. (Sugar and spice isn't the only thing she's made of.) Betty prefers diaries and journals- rough drafts by hand, whilst Jughead prefers his laptop. Typing. His writing his cool, clinical. He gets his point across without too much fuss- _professional_  is what she writes.

She invites him to save the Blue and Gold with her, because she knows this. Knows that Jughead loves writing just as much as she. He's been writing that book- what does she have to show for her prowess? A trunk full of diaries and a few school essays. No, she has the Blue and Gold. Jughead does too now. 

They've been friends since childhood really, but Jug is a bit reserved. After the invincibility of childhood faded he distanced himself the slightest from her and Archie. 

But he holds nothing back now. He joins her, writes and writes. He smiles and laughs and it's relieving that she still has the power to make others happy. Incredible. They want answers amongst the carnage and maybe along with everything else, like Jughead's ability to be there and see- that's what makes it so easy to be friends with him. To be around him. A fresh breath of air. 

He helps her find Polly.

 


End file.
